She knows who she is.

A friend did something like this. I'm bored, so why not?

Who am I? I'm a girl. I like to paint. Painting is like, my life. Roses are prettier when they're dried and hung on my wall, and Carnations are better pressed between books. I keep necklace memories in a little box on my dresser, gifts given by boys and friends. I have makeup that I never wear outside the bathroom hidden under the sink where my brother can't reach it. There are things in this world that I really would rather not see, or experience, some of those I've already had the misfortune of witnessing. Light fracturing through a magnifying glass will burn things, and is prefect for making small little fires in the back yard with twigs and pine needles. Vanilla is a luscious smell that glides off your nose like silk, but too much will make you gag. There are names in my life that I wish could be erased, but I never want to forget them. There are things I want to forget in my life, but I never want to forgive them. Forgiving makes me feel frightened sometimes, because forgiving sometimes is a weakness. Lies are something I want to burn with fractured light. If I'm not worth the truth, then don't bother talking to me. You break it, you buy it here. Humanity is a salad, and I'm just a carrot. I could live without certain things, I just choose not to. And no, it's nothing illegal. There is a boy that makes my heart sing songs that I've never heard before, and makes my stomach light up like there are 1369 lightbulbs screwed into the lining of my tummy. The sun makes my face warm, and lightens my hair much quicker than I would like. But I don't really mind. Black cloths soak up heat like the pavement outside, so I changed my wardrobe so I don't get overheated. Three hundred and fifty two. Holy toast. I want toast. And ice cream.